


A Proposal Presented

by peoriapeoria



Series: Giovanna, Baroness [1]
Category: The Dresden Files - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peoriapeoria/pseuds/peoriapeoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giovanna Marcone hadn't expected Harry's request. She didn't get Chicago by not seizing opportunity unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I'm Chicago's monster. I'm also her baroness, her Protector from Things that would treat her as an endless buffet. The public knows me as Giovanna Marcone, city photographers know what is and is not their meal ticket, and the police are well paid.

Harry Dresden is my city's Wizard. Yes, Wizard. He's been difficult, yet he wants much the same for Chicago as I do, but he wouldn't be bought. He needs a keeper, a patron, someone to sponsor his magic. It was interesting when he came to me with his proposal.

"So, you still want to hire me?"

"Yes, of course, Harry. I'll even extend my most generous offers, though you turned them down."

"Marry me and I'm yours. I'm still not doing the Outfit's business, I'll defend it like Chicago from the Bumps, but not from mortal authorities or mortal enemies."

He plopped into one of my chairs and sprawled. It shouldn't be sexy but that's Harry. He's impossible; impossibly tall, impossibly obdurate, impossibly cash strapped. He typically is a week past scruffy at his usual. Sometimes he's worse.

"Why would I possibly marry you?" I was very happy that Nathan was elsewhere, just then. Nathan is a professional, but I think he might have harmed himself restraining what I would politely term a cough.

"If you aren't interested, just say no."

It was entirely bravado on his part. I got to the top of Chicago reading people. I didn't then know who he'd pissed off (courtesy requires extending personhood to Powers) but I wasn't exactly the lesser of evils to Harry. At times he was pressed to allow I was human. "I will have to know just what debts I'd be assuming. Naturally, you'd take my surname."

And that, more than anything shocked him.

"What?!" He popped out of my chair like an unwanted passenger in a Bond movie.

"It is an interesting proposition, Mr. Dresden. I will have my people look into the matter. I expect you to make yourself available for an interview. That's all, for now."

He swirled out like a cowboy, his leather duster clearly outstripping the outlay of the rest of his garb. It was magicked, of course. And a gift from his former girlfriend.

"Mr. and Mrs. Marcone, you may kiss."

I aligned us and brushed his lips. I think he lifted me a little, natural enough for a man of his height. Between the two of us we knew how to kiss. He was surprisingly sweet.

The details of the reception aren't unimportant, but my gown, the guest list (mostly), the venue, menu and the music program are all matters of the public record. There was a small contingent from the White Council, Thomas Raith had been extended as an envoy from the White Court, and there were the Carpenters. Michael, Charity and Margaret Carpenter, Daniel having bowed out to watch the younger children. Excluding myself, I think Charity was the most dangerous person there.

Harry cleans up well. I'd naturally sent him a tailor as a groom's present and had a wardrobe made. There were a few disagreements related to that, which I closed by explaining I'd examine his briefs after the wedding but not before.

He's also a good dancer. A better dancer than I might expect of a former employee of a senior social services organization. I was a bit displeased when someone cut in, until I realized it was Michael Carpenter. The best man clearly wanted a word that wouldn't be overheard. My smile was unforced.


	2. Chapter 2

I almost swallowed my tongue when I realized my bride's escort was none other than Cujo. Mr. Hendricks, she'd been rather adamant about that when I'd so referred to him after our engagement. 

Bride. After so long evading her job offers I put myself into her hands, because whatever I've protested to the contrary, she is but a lower case evil compared to some seriously Capital Evil. I looked at Michael while I regained my composure at Mr. Hendricks' unexpected appearance. No brushcut, no poorly cut suit. He looked like the sort of man a departed father wouldn't mind intimidating anyone thinking to disrespect his daughter.

Not that Giovanna suffered any disrespect, being able to solve such matters personally. She hadn't gone so far as to wear white; I can't distinguish between ivory, champagne or antique, but the dress was no little girl's frothy dream. I didn't know her matron/maid of honor, and it was possible she'd been chosen for complementing her dress' color scheme.

I mourned my friendship with Murphy, having known full well that I would lose her by this course of action. I hoped that I wasn't putting Michael in an awkward position by making him my best man.

At least I didn't have to say my full name, it was bad enough for the priest to say it in front of everyone. There was a small window before he changed it that was fraught, but it passed quickly. She knows how to kiss, my wife.

Wife. I'd missed my chance with Susan, and here I was marrying for protection, harbor from the worse that had come like ships to port. I'd started a war over Susan, because she'd dared too much for a story and I'd not known her plans in order to stop them. My wife kissed me, a perfect counterfeit, a pure mafia mark.

The reception was as to be expected extravagant and elegant. I danced with her all the better to avoid reflection. Michael cut in.

"Hoss." I turned to my mentor, surprised to see Warden Luccio in a gown. I was ignoring Eb's formal wear. There were rumors that there were nude paintings of Luccio's first youth.

"It was my best option." His expression spoke volumes, in the close manner of baseball. "How was your trip?" He shook his head, and I chose to believe it was answering my question not rebuking my statement. I went to ask Charity for a dance, since her husband was talking to my wife.

Michael cut in and I sought out Giovanna. She'd changed dresses. This one was blush or pale coral, off the shoulder and sleeveless. No train.

"It takes three people to get me out of that dress." I suspect, no, I know, I blushed. Giovanna is a force of dangerous curves and strong limbs with a force of will akin to a cyclone or an earthquake. "Just one for this." She leaned in even closer, breathed "same underwear."

I kissed her. I didn't want her to say another thing. It was rather a frying pan fire matter but I'm used to burning. They seated us for dinner shortly thereafter. She kept me in a light haze, her hand teasing my thigh. Too bad Maeve had no interest in subtly, my wife could school the fae Queen to-be. I wasn't even expecting the get away when it came.

Naturally, we couldn't just head home. There was a whole shell game of switched cars, decoys and us deposited at a hotel suite that could house a village. "Aren't you concerned about me blowing the electrical?"

"This hotel is slated for renovations." She pulled on my tie. Kissed me. My hands roamed her back and buns. Bells and whistles, she leaned back pulling me forward. I took a moment resting my cheek against her shoulder to figure out her dress. I'd snapped at her about boy scouts over the years, but it did do to be prepared. 

She unbuttoned my shirt and raked her short manicured nails down my chest. She worried the nipple she'd grazed. I took her dress apart and pulled her away from its slithered pool.

I stared. I burrowed my face between her breasts best as I could, unhooked her bra. She cupped my balls in her hand. "They're brass, just like yours."

She laughed. Rolled them slowly. Hell's bells. She pushed me over, straddled me too high. The view was excellent. "Take off your socks." You had to hear it, it sounded sexy the way Giovanna said it. I did as bid, removed my cufflinks and skinned out of the shirt. Initiative. I wrapped myself around her. She nipped at my cheekbone.

I wanted her, needed her, had to have her. I moved her arms up and I slipped down, freeing her panties and kissed her, gently taking her apart. I was so hard, I waited, learned, and took her mid-orgasm, third being the charm. She clutched my hands, making them knead her ass. She knocked me onto my back and I rose onto my elbows.

"Hands on deck." Her fingers squeezed me at the root, slowing me down. I stroked my palms over her, rocked up. She leaned down and I rolled us, driving it home.

"You're heavy." I started to roll away. "Warm." I shifted so my weight was on the mattress but an arm and leg draped over her. I slipped back into my doze. Who'd have thought the road to hell was paved in good sex?


	3. Chapter 3

He's a good lay. An interesting fringe benefit; fortunately for him the numbers worked in his favor, insofar that he was of more use to me than he would cost regarding the worse he'd gotten into. I slid out of bed and went into the bathroom, washing away my makeup and slipping into the shower. Throwing on a robe was more bother than room service was worth, so I picked at the fruit basket. Snack completed I got back into bed, my wizard sprawling over me despite changing sides.

Michael Carpenter had delivered a touching homily last night, containing both God's love and a warning of the wages of sin as regarding harming my wizard and husband. Misplaced, since Harry's an investment, but the sentiment counts. It's too bad Miss Carpenter isn't more like her father. Less considered the better.

Harry's hands though are a worthy matter of contemplation. Riling him up at the reception had been fun. I'd taken the opportunity presented to slip away and thus out of my wedding gown, under the ministrations of professionals. There was always the possibility of party crashers and it wouldn't do to be somewhat hobbled during an attempted hit. It was a prop, and it was time for it to be cleaned and stored like any other implement. The propriety of a church no longer dictated my sartorial choice.

Surprising Harry sometimes is too easy, but there is an honesty to his reactions that if not refreshing are at least entertaining. I saw him intrigued at seeing more of me, yet wistful as if he'd lost something of importance. Softly enough not to be overhead I told him, "It takes three people to get me out of that dress." He blushed pinker than my gown. "Just one for this." Power is intoxicating, and having this lever, I had to add, "same underwear."

His kiss wasn't so sweet this time. Conquest. Dinner service started thereafter, and I conducted a gentle siege on my husband throughout. He was a bit dazed as we eventually made our getaway after suitable social niceties. It was one occasion people accepted you had more important things to do than talk to them at length about nothing.

"Aren't you concerned about me blowing the electrical?" He really does say some ridiculous things considering the gleeful property damage he inflicts. I let him know that renovations were slated before I pulled his tie like a ripcord. No time to jump like the present.

His hands are huge and deft, inquisitive and shyly sure. A contradiction wrapped in an anachronism is Harry. I started undressing him and he dropped my dress on the floor. 

"They're brass, just like yours."

I laughed and rolled his balls in my palm. Toppled him. "Take off your socks." He also got out of his shirt, wrapped himself around me. Damn if he hadn't been wasting his time talking when tongue and lips could have been doing this. Third time, only on the way to the third time did he board. No, no, no, not yet. He looked good sprawled, struggling up. I wanted this to last, he had other plans.

Good plans. He's heavy. "Warm." Now I drifted off to the heat he radiated. 

I woke to his erection at the small of my back, my ear pressed to the dubdub of his heart. I twisted around and shifted up. I figured the society page photographers were calling, their pictures full of odd problems. I teased myself, Harry still asleep. I'd planned to make sure there were appropriate moments immortalized, as it were. Certain traditionalists would feel full of themselves with me married; I was going to hit them hard while they thought I was distracted from the wedding. Harry just might pay for himself.

I nipped his mouth as he shifted awake, trying to string together a coherent thought despite  
his blood being mostly below his navel. His hands clasped me and I pushed down.

Harry Marcone is a good lay.


	4. Chapter 4

I shut my Sight as her afterglow waned. I hadn't purposely opened it, it just happened. You never forgot things seen with Sight; I had the nightmares to prove it.

"You've your lab to pack."

She'd showered and dressed. I must have dozed off. "You're pretty without the makeup."

"I married you for business, Harry. Don't expect me to change who I am. Get a shower, room service will be here shortly."

I hadn't meant it like that. I got up and headed into the bathroom. We had a contract, Giovanna taking up my defense while I didn't embarrass her. It specified just what that meant, as far as what I could and couldn't do. Oh, there were provisions for her as well, regarding what she could and couldn't ask of me, or could ask for but not require.

Hot water. I wondered if she'd keep me in hot water; I was hard on water heaters. She was pretty without the makeup. More real, less the polished head of Chicago's Outfit. I might be biased, we were having sex at the time after all. I shaved.

The cart had been wheeled in when I came out of the bath, the robe a bit shorter than it should be. She smiled. Cute, she'd purposely left the smaller one for me. Giovanna in heels looked most men in the eye, unless they happened to be shorter. In stockings she came up to my shoulder.

I had seen her eat before, she was rather in a habit of having me brought to her at one restaurant or another, but breakfast was a first. I wanted a Coke.

"I'm having a suite formed, your room, workroom, two parlors and my new room. We have a meeting with the decorator this afternoon at three."

So my eyes went a touch flinty. It wasn't like I didn't think she could have just had it completed; she had a reason for us to been seen setting up house. I wasn't caffeinated. "My lab?"

"Mr. Hendricks can see to the rest of your apartment. Mouse and Mister, well Mouse sends his regards."

I'd dropped my pet sabertooth and doggisaurus off the day before last, prior to heading to game with the Alphas. Georgia and Billy were at the wedding, Waldo had to work. It would have been a little awkward for a medical examiner to attend a society wedding when the bride was so often ultimately responsible for untimely expiration in Chicago. Mister likely was marking his territory in the grounds.

Kincaid had overridden Ivy, who acknowledged that being Neutral and attending the wedding of the Accorded Baroness of Chicago to the Wizard that brought the Red Court and White Council to War... It had been agreed that an ice cream party to be scheduled later would serve in lieu.

"Doesn't he have better things to do than carter services?"

"Would you think I'd begrudge my husband help moving?"

I speared a last melon ball on the tines of my fork. Now, I'd known that this was coming, so it wasn't like I hadn't started packing. My books were boxed, clothes washed and folded. I'd miss my apartment. I'd miss my landlady, the neighbors. Who was going to shovel for them come winter? I reminded myself they'd be safer without anyone gunning for me. A zombie army had sieged my apartment.

Giovanna kissed me. "The car will be waiting, get your game face on."


	5. Chapter 5

Harry wasn't late; Nathan wouldn't have allowed that, but he was cutting it fine getting to the mansion just as I'd completed the small talk portion. He was smooth at merging our personal space.

I'd sent my requirements to the designer in advance. Harry's workroom was not part of the package, and in fact its door was virtually hidden. I couldn't afford to have it thought that Harry wasn't being accustomed to my lifestyle. Our marriage lost all value if it was considered a sham. Also, it would avert certain otherwise inevitable conflicts of style.

"I was living in a cave."

Harry may not think he is charming; okay, often he is crude and brash. Doesn't mean he isn't intriguing to people that don't know the context; perhaps a little even to the ones that do.

"Concrete. Very concrete." He chose to sit at that, his hand sliding away from mine. Harry demonstrated why professional help was needed, even after the expense that had transmuted the tacky ode to over-consumption to a businesswoman's headquarters. He made the chair look like part of a child's tea party. I hadn't ever really cared for it.

"I have lots of ideas to unify. Thank you both for your time, I'll schedule with you the presentation." Yes, really this newlywed status made people more cognizant of ones time and its ability not to be spent with them.

Harry got up and sat on the couch. Sprawled, really. His coat looked, affected, a conscious choice as opposed to a tactical calculation, with jeans and a shirt that didn't together cost less that my usual lunch.

"Would you sit with me?" He reached a hand out; I took it and sat. I looked at him askance as he draped an arm around me. Harry just kissed my hair. It was relaxing, which I wouldn't have attributed to Wizard Dresden.

I got up, work's obligation calling.

"No kiss? How soon--" I cut him off, kissing his forehead.

"Sleep well tonight, Mr. Marcone."


	6. Chapter 6

I looked at the frog hopping around the top of my desk. Origami frog, given a bit of power by my husband. It had started with a swimming swan, and I'd been concerned about turtle doves and French hens. There was a rabbit that twitched its ears from within a hat, a tiger swishing its tail and an assorted menagerie of other paper tributes.

Perhaps I misjudged how much time his assigned tasks would require. I admitted that wasn't what these things were telling me; I had a besotted Wizard for a husband. He favored 'assisting' me when he delivered a new charm, whether pendant, bracelet or earrings. He oversteps our agreement.

I caught the frog and placed it in a brandy snifter, put the snifter back into the liquor cabinet. Naturally I kept the things, misguided as they were, being magical. If making them gave Harry enjoyment I supposed I would continue to accept them.


	7. Chapter 7

Ms Marcone isn't like most of my clients; I know, that seems rather obvious, but I mean it in a nontrivial way. Most clients have scattered bits and pieces they want made into a whole, and I have to figure out what things I can play to and which edit. She just wants the best, what suits her and her needs. She hires professionals, doesn't dabble.

The précis didn't match the rest of the house in so far as I saw it. At least, not until he arrived. Larger than life is only literal truth with the newly minted Mr. Marcone; the photos from the morning paper couldn't prepare me for his scale, or...

Candlelight. He was the reason she'd specified candlelight, he looked like he should be in the Old West, or one of the Old Masters' paintings, something epic and more than half-shadow.

These rooms were private; what I'd seen were well appointed but a little clinical, traditional. Rooms designed to 'audience' expectations, without the hackney shortcuts that undercut lesser attempts, no fussy upholstery or excess carving. A modernist's manor house. I'd need to suss out what she'd like, in addition to what she expressed as wanting. He was a lot more open, so I talked to him and judged her reactions.

The obvious, and wrong, interpretation to the four rooms (it's gauche to consider an en suite a separate room) would be that theirs wasn't a love match or exclusive. Just as strong fences make good neighbors, everyone needs a room of their own. Lots of couples that means a garage and a kitchen; separate bedrooms have some unfair baggage. I made note of the light from the windows, reactions to colors. There were pets to allow for as well, a dog and a cat.

His room would be the more traditional, the softer, draped, romantic, while hers would be streamlined with stealth amenities. Dark, light. Their sitting rooms would be the crossover arena, each welcoming to both. I was thinking aubergine, bitter chocolate, leather and tactile textiles as a base for him, while for her smokey lavender, Tiffany turquoise and buttery leather. A more mature modernism, less afraid of color, embracing details true to the materials' manufacture.

This would be an interesting project.


	8. Chapter 8

I wondered where the FBI agent was supposed to be, that Giovanna's hand was playing to on my thigh. Okay, it could be a rival operation doing surveillance. Apparently I'd rather made a hash of anything other than old fashioned optics. Really.

We had just been to a fundraiser for something that probably wouldn't have needed funds if they hadn't had the party. Not that I was complaining, these things meant I got to touch my wife. There were only so many magics that could be employed at the same time, though fashion abetted me by requiring variety. Presenting them was fleeting though, while these events led to dancing. I like dancing. She, to maintain appearances, had to dance with me some. There were enough society matrons to fill up my card while Giovanna conducted business.

"Are you up to being propositioned?"

Yes, so emphatically yes. "What's the deal?" She didn't answer other than a smile that hinted at upcoming pleasures. The first few weeks I'd been extremely busy putting up the sorts of defenses a contractor can't or generally won't do, though I had (legitimately) drawn attention to the threshold strengthening power of making out. She'd kiss me by stealth. Giovanna is maddening, makes my blood hum.

I think it's mutual. Sometimes it happens like this, after some fete or another, whether it's the dresses or the deals Giovanna is electric. Once it was after her doctor pulled a bullet out of me. I still miss Butters, though I approved of my wife's bed inside manner. A few times it just happened, though I tried to figure out the inspiration. I wanted lightening to strike.

Pulling up the drive took forever. Nathan just nodded as he got out from behind the wheel but didn't open her door. I swung mine out, stepped and extended my hand. Sweet current as she took it and joined me. We didn't run, but we both have long legs.

I like teasing her. Some of her dresses are deceptive as far as their zippers and so forth are concerned.

"Should I have them turn my dresses into puzzles?"

Oh, I love it when Giovanna gets arch. I wanted to lick her spine at the-- Bare skin achieved! Her bra and panties were the same color as her skin, and probably cost the same as a car payment. Apiece.

"Can't undress yourself." She started with my cufflinks; I had shucked my jacket sometime after the stairs.

"You like unwrapping gifts." She always did this in the same order, like defusing a bomb or stripping a gun. I knelt to untie my shoes and pull them off. I kissed her stomach. She pulled me up as she unbuttoned my shirt. Plastered herself to me after dropping my pants. Bells if she isn't all muscle and curves, this takes me apart every time. She nipped me at the top of my neck. I tipped my head down and cupped my hands under her ass, her sweet, sweet ripe ass.

"Leave the shirt on, lose the shorts."

I was going to eat her mouth. I pressed us against her upholstered wall; I'd laughed at it but the oversized headboard is fun. She squirmed, trying to start a fire using our underwear as tinder. I pulled her up higher, groaning at the loss of desired friction. Exhaled as her bra made matchstick heads of my nipples. I leaned forward and unhooked her back. Her mouth is so hot, better than a bath.

"Ow!" She pinched me. Giovanna unholstered her breasts and pulled me back against her. She denied me her mouth, rubbing her cheek against mine, riposte and counter riposte switched cheeks.

"Do!"

I tilted her head and looked her in the eyes, black emeralds now, and pushed down her panties. I looked, of course I looked. She stepped her well-heeled feet out. I pinned Giovanna to the wall and slid into her. I stayed bottomed out, my breath roiling back from her face. She wouldn't ask, not again. I kissed back into her mouth, licked her, meshed our lips together.

I moved when I couldn't not move any longer. She'd take me to bed tonight. I loved it when she did; she didn't always. I kept eating her mouth, kept stroking into her, outstroking her, making love to her. I hadn't thought I would fall for her. She's still the brain stem of the Outfit, author of Chicago's suffering, what's not self-inflicted. What isn't the Bumps or human nature's failures.

"Gianna." I slid down to my knees replete, unbuckling her shoes as I nuzzled against her. I lifted my arms and anchored her with them, teasing her with just the tip of my tongue. I could feel her resisting canting her hips into me. I got my face good and wet, (I had shaved late today) and pulled away. Turned back the bed.

Stars! She was riding her fingers, stones if she didn't look good. I watched her come, folding the image within myself. I intercepted her fingers, sucking them into my own mouth. I needed to go down on her.

"Harry!" Giovanna pulled me up by the hair and kissed me savagely before shoving me back down. I almost had her breaking again when she pulled me, gently, up by one ear. She ate my mouth like a carmel apple, licking and choosing angles. We somehow fell into the bed, sprawling. "Yes!" Mine was a very lucky bony knee. I rearranged us more properly into bed and pulled up the covers. I was exhausted by proxy.


	9. Chapter 9

Giovanna is a force, not of nature but like the waves you have to be strong not to succumb to her will. As the philosophers have often said, the only power that control ultimate power, is that same power. I hadn't thought that she'd demonstrate the negative side of that.

Some might think that is odd, considering that her control has led her to seize Chicago, put her on top of an empire of drugs, prostitution, arms, gambling, extortion, and bribery; they would think that was pretty negative and my missing the fact a serious malformation of character. They forget what Chicago was like, and they are unaware of the legal fictions that hide much worse crimes than the Outfit has ever committed.

In her Chicago hits don't occur in public parks. Addicts don't die of rat poison or ground glass. Girls aren't sold in the street; children are off limits and it's enforced more strictly than any court of law. She pulls the strings in politics, putting the slops out so the greedy if not doing the right thing don't side with absolutely the wrong thing.

All that said, I can't say I always approve. That's not my role. She takes the hard decisions on her own shoulders, her own soul. I cannot say Chicago isn't better for that. It's why I help. Not the only reason.

However, Harry nee Dresden has injected himself into the equation. They Soulgazed within minutes of meeting. Reminiscent of the old Giovanna, the wild young woman of first acquaintance, headstrong and tough enough for whatever happened. He really is a Wizard, and he really is a Hero.

Perhaps I should have seen it coming. She was smitten. Don't get me wrong, she wasn't unable to play her hand, she got him out of that warehouse in finest tradition, making the lycanthropes think the ace they held worthless. Truly she helps those that help themselves and the then Dresden took his opening and slipped free during the banter.

It took her awhile to accept she couldn't control him, that she'd have to give him enough slack to do what was best for Chicago. It grated that she couldn't direct him, couldn't minimize his knack for property damage, or at least point him at buildings she couldn't acquire through other channels under reasonable terms. She rarely lost her edge because of Harry. He was abrasive enough, hardheaded enough to leave her edge honed.

And then he proposed, propositioned her. Him, for her protection. Marriage. It belonged to the Italian Renaissance. She doesn't get that she's running a long con on herself. She loves him, and heaven can't help us. There will be fury, and what preparations are suited and sufficient for this sort of storm?

There will be a storm. Harry loves her too.


End file.
